“No question there.”
As if the shoot-out, asshole boss, fretting CI, and apparent attempt on his life hadn’t been enough, Nic had spent hours filling out paperwork for rotating safe houses and rousing court clerks about rotating courtrooms.By the time he’d left the office once Tony radioed in that Abby was secure in tonight’s location, he’d angered more than just Bowers.
Taking a long draw of his favorite brew, Nic forgot about all that shit for a few heavenly seconds.With a higher malt concentration than other pilsners, Gravity’s Alto Pils was less sweet and more spicy.“A standout in its class,” according toBeer Advocate.He took another swallow, savoring, before his happy sigh turned weary.
“And I’ve still got another call with the feds.”He needed to touch base with Cam and see if he’d gotten anywhere with Scott or Mike.He also needed to find out if Lauren had said anything to Cam about the shooter.Nic had sworn her to secrecy but technically her duty was to the FBI, not him.
He should have called Cam on the drive down from the city, but he’d taken the rare, traffic-free forty-five minutes for himself, enjoying the relative silence after an otherwise very loud day.
Eddie yanked Nic’s bunched-up bar towel out from under his fisted hand.“I stand by my earlier glare.You work too much.”
“Whatever you say, Pot.”
Chuckling, Eddie ran the towels over the bar once more, then tossed them into the laundry basket beneath the back bar.“Speaking of, I’m due at Alameda at oh-five-hundred.”
“Then what the fuck are you still doing here?”
He stretched out a hand to Nic, as if for a handshake.“Hi, Kettle, I’m Pot, nice to meet you,” he said with a brown-eyed wink.
Nic swatted his meaty paw away, laughing.“You know how long?”
“Captain thinks a couple weeks.”
Probably a drug interdiction matter then—chasing illegal drug vessels around the Pacific—which meant it would land on Nic’s desk eventually.“I’ll check the schedules.Make sure we’re covered here since I won’t be around much either.Trial.”
“Already done.Ang and Steph will hold down the fort.”They’d lucked out in the staff lottery, finding not one but two UC Davis grads who were talented apprentice brewers and competent assistant managers.
“Good deal.”Nic finished off his beer and handed the pint glass to Eddie, who rinsed and put it in the dishwasher.
“Owe the team a couple cases.”Eddie stepped out from behind the bar.“Help me load ’em?”
“Sure thing.”Nic shrugged out of his coat and tie, pushed up his shirtsleeves, and followed Eddie into the warehouse.They carried two cases of Belmont Red Ale out to Eddie’s sand-crusted Wrangler, surfboards still stacked on top.Nic liked the coast all right—had spent plenty of time there as a kid—and Eddie’s place in Half Moon Bay was great.As nice as it was though, Nic could never live there.Not in a place where sand in his shoes was a daily occurrence.Not again.
Eddie slammed the trunk shut, snapping Nic out of his thoughts.“How much longer you gonna be?”he asked.
“Need to make that call, then I’ll be on my way.”Nic followed him to the driver’s side, waited for Eddie to climb in, then held out his fist.“Don’t run to your death.”
Eddie bumped back.“Hooyah.”
Once Eddie’s taillights cleared the lot, Nic started back to the main building, pausing halfway when his phone vibrated.
Unknownlit up the screen.
“Nic Price,” he answered.Silence greeted him.“Hello, is anyone there?”Still nothing.“Who is this?”
A male voice answered but not from the phone.“I’d be more worried about who’s here than who’s on the phone,” he said from behind Nic.
One look over his shoulder and Nic spied a shiny-suited man rushing toward him.The big guy wrapped his arms around him from behind, and though he’d gotten the jump on him, Nic thought someone was a fool for not telling this idiot who he was up against.Even without the KA-BAR and Beretta he’d left in his truck, Nic could take this guy.
Or maybe someone had warned the goon, because a second one came barreling out of the back lot, pistol aimed at Nic.“I’d stay still if I were you.”
“Why don’t you stay still for me?”Nic replied.
Using the big man behind him as a support post, Nic crossed his arms, grabbed the stranger’s biceps, and curled up with his abs, lifting his legs off the ground.One swift scissor kick and Goon Two’s weapon was gone.
Another swift kick to Goon Two’s blond head and he hit the pavement.One threat neutralized, Nic swung his legs down with as much force as he could muster and used his momentum to flip Goon One over his back, laying him flat out next to his partner.Nic plucked his sidearm free in the process, so by the time the two idiots staggered up, Nic had a pistol leveled on each.
The Silicon Valley version of “muscle,” their trainer-honed physiques were decked out in designer suits and Italian loafers, capped off with three-figure haircuts.They looked like TV G-men, not real-life enforcers, but the weapons in Nic’s hands were very real and very high-powered.Jacked as they were, the handguns were also highly illegal.
